


All of Me

by prototyping



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: .......that was NOT a pun, A little bit of angst, A little bit of fluff, F/M, Fade to Black, I'm not even sorry for what a dope he is, Post-Game, Romance, bc look who it is, female/male is absolutely the correct order here, gosh dang it sorey, intentionally awkward, look there's a distinct lack of stuff for this ship, slight canon AU, so I need to cover all bases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: It will make their next goodbye that much more difficult—but Alisha’s never been one to do anything half-heartedly, even when it hurts. [Sorey/Alisha]





	All of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, slight canon AU in which I say screw Bamco’s love affair with heroic sacrifices.

“Stay—”

It’s a question, a request, given away by the sudden drop in her tone and the way she only just reaches in his direction before hesitating.

Sorey turns back and Alisha immediately lowers her gaze, as if she didn’t mean for him to hear her. The shyness is unlike her and he knows something’s wrong, deeply so, but her eyes stay on the marble floor and her voice doesn’t return to explain.

With a sympathetic smile he crosses back over to her. As easily as ever, he takes her hands in his and holds them gently, comfortably, until she finally looks up at him again.

“I’m in no rush,” he assures her.

Her fingers tighten on his, but only briefly before her eyes wander aside again. “Are you certain? I understand that you’re busy. I wouldn’t want you to keep anyone waiting for my s—” She’s cut off as he leans down and kisses her softly.

It’s an answer more than anything, a promise. Sorey draws back almost as quickly as he leaned in, his smile relaxed and confident. “I’m sure.”

Her face colors a little—with embarrassment, but also happy warmth—and she touches her mouth with a quiet hum.

It isn't the first time they’ve kissed. On a couple occasions they were curious: once, when she was upset and he held her and one thing led to another, albeit not very far; and, most recently, as part of their goodbyes before he set off again.

Each of those times was light and fleeting, with uncertainty and inexperience often halting them before long. This time is different.

It was strange the first time, touching and being touched in ways neither of them had before, and they fumbled and hesitated and apologized more than once. Now it's almost natural, almost casual as they come together and he carefully takes her face in his hands and she leans into his chest. Their kiss is hardly confident on either end, but there are no doubts, no wavering on the edge of pulling back and pretending it never happened.

Sorey has always been gentle with her—in his words, in holding her hand—and his kiss is no different. It’s light and chaste, considerate and patient. He doesn’t rush or push or try to encourage anything more.

Alisha is the one to take that step. With a subtle nudge she parts his lips some more and the kiss that follows is something _else_ , something deep and sure and almost-eager even as her touch remains slow and easy.

He mistakes the brush of her tongue as an accident, but when it repeats—light, brief, and shy, but too direct to be anything but intentional—and he notices her fingers tightening on his shoulders even as goosebumps break out over his skin, he realizes. It’s the first time he’s considered that there _could_ be something more to the kiss, something other than simple touch. 

It seems like a strange thing to do, but he’s nothing if not curious and willing to learn from mistakes: he tilts his head and mirrors her motion, a quick sweep of his tongue along her lower lip. Her sharp gasp startles him and the way she goes rigid makes him think he did something wrong—but her hands are on his neck now and she’s pulling him down even as she stands on her toes, kissing him with more force and smothering the words that don’t make it up in time.

The almost-aggressive kiss is also new, but it reassures him that he did something right. Alisha leans into him fully now, without reservation, and her formalwear is thin enough to emphasize curves and features that he didn’t notice before. He retreats a step to gather his bearings and backs into one of the tall bedposts, which stops him short—but she keeps pressing against him, their kiss never breaking. His hands find her waist, his arms slip around her, and she gives a small, pleased sigh that makes his hold tighten a little.

As good as she feels, the post digging into the small of his back is less so after a couple minutes. Sorey side-steps, slowly, but even that small motion is miscalculated when he’s this distracted and he stumbles. She catches hold of his arms and redirects his weight, and instead of the floor he ends up sitting, abruptly, on the edge of her bed, their mouths colliding hard enough to hurt.

“Sorry! Sorry—my fault,” he breathes quickly. He looks up at her— _up_ , because Alisha’s now a little taller than he from where she landed on his lap. Rather than jumping up and apologizing, as he would expect, she instead stays where she is, her bright eyes roaming his face as if she doesn’t quite recognize it. Almost tentatively, she leans forward and kisses him—once again gentle, slow, and he does the same.

Her fingertips run along his face, cradling his jaw, cupping his neck, combing through his hair. His stay firmly on her middle, concentrated on keeping the two of them upright with how heavily she’s leaning into him. He’s not sure who speeds up first, who starts to kiss a little harder, but it’s not long before their breaths are heavy and their skins flushed and warm with more than just shyness.

It’s a relief, then, when she opens his shirt and pushes it back from his shoulders—he's not sure when she unbuttoned it—although for a moment his arms are bound behind him as she fumbles with the sleeves that catch on his wrists. He can't help grinning at how ridiculous it is, and then he's momentarily useless as he actually starts laughing. That response gives Alisha pause, but only for a second before she joins in. She presses smiles to his lips now, and then gives up on the effort with his shirt as she pulls back.

He breaks away to untangle it himself, but Alisha takes his face in her hands and turns him back towards her. She shifts her knees onto the mattress proper, lifting herself off of his legs and adding to the difference in their heights, and tilts his head back to kiss him again. This one is firm, confident, and decided as she leans against him—and with no way of catching himself, Sorey quickly finds himself pushed backwards.

His arms end up pinned beneath his weight. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable, it prompts him to shift and give another awkward laugh, but Alisha only kisses him again as she kneels over him, straddling him. He's instantly aware of where his black undershirt’s hitched up on one side, granting contact with the warm inside of her bare thigh—and she also notices, if the way her knee begins to drag higher up his side, back down, and up again is any indication. It sends chills over his skin and heat through his veins and he grunts.

In a heartbeat Alisha pulls back, her movements ceasing just as quickly. “Oh—are you—?” She looks uncertain, almost flustered. “I didn’t mean to…”

“N-No,” he stammers, needing a moment to find his voice. He clears his throat. “You’re fine. It’s fine—I just didn’t… uh...” He notices the way her eyes are watching his, how she’s bitten her lower lip as she waits for him to answer.

Sorey shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “I’m... bad at this. Sorry.” He leans up just enough to kiss her once, his next words as soft as his touch as he murmurs against her skin, “I like what you’re doing.” Another kiss, and then, demurely, “I wouldn’t mind if you, uh… kept… doing it, you know?”

Alisha blushes as she grins, butting her forehead gently against his. “You have a unique way with words, Sorey.” She leans in again and answers his kiss, her thigh resuming its caresses. Her movements return to an easier, slower pace, each kiss long and lingering and making him forget that time exists.

When her hands slide under his shirt, they do so boldly. Her fingers and palms work curiously up his torso, undeterred by the way her wrists catch the edge of his shirt and pull it upwards—or perhaps it’s intentional.

Alisha sits back on his thighs and for a moment just runs her hands over the lines of muscle in his stomach. She lingers over one of his scars, a long, thin line that follows the curve of his bottom rib. Her touch is tender and cautious.

“I, ah… took a bad fall as a kid. Slipped while exploring some ruins. Not exactly the most heroic battlescar,” he jokes. Alisha hums in amusement, and then after a few more gliding touches she drags his shirt up further—and then stops.

Unfazed, he watches her take in the other blemish on his skin: a web of bright-red lines etched over much of his left side, the branching patterns resembling a bizarre work of art more than an injury. The burns look fresh, having hardly faded at all since the day he received them.

Sorey doesn’t have a joke for this one. He knows she’s going to ask and the temptation is there to change the subject, but he doesn’t want a reason to be anything but honest and open with her. He bites his tongue and waits.

“This…” Her fingertips reach forward tentatively, but stop short before making contact. Her brows knit together in concern. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replies, a little flatly. “There’s... no feeling at all.” The affected nerves along his skin have long since gone dead.

“Who… What did this?” Alisha looks at him now, his face, and he recognizes the firm determination in hers, as if she’s out to find the one responsible.

It’s a complicated answer at best. He could give one of two short answers, or a long one, but neither name is one he wants to voice here. The memory is one he’ll always preserve out of grief and respect, but it has no place here, with her, in these circumstances.

After a noticeable pause, he at last answers quietly, “...Lightning. It… was a lightning arte.”

The pause that follows threatens to be heavier than the first, so Sorey gives a somber half-smile and remarks, “Sorry I didn’t give a warning. I know it looks pretty bad—”

“No,” she interjects quickly. “No, it… it doesn’t. That’s not what I was thinking.” She sets her palm against his heart, her thumb stroking one of the lines. He knows how it feels, the strange, waxy texture in contrast with his otherwise smooth skin, but Alisha shows no sign of disgust or anything close. “It’s a part of you,” she replies quietly. “I’ll remember it.”

Her exploration of his skin resumes, more slowly than before. Pushing his shirt up to his shoulders, she traces from his neck down to his waist and back up again, following a different path each time. Her gaze is a little too focused, too _intense_ for simple curiosity, and for the first time he starts to feel self-conscious. This is _him_ she's looking at so closely and studiously, and while he’s never given more than the most basic consideration to his appearance, he abruptly wonders what she thinks of him in that regard.

When she leans down, he doesn’t expect the soft kiss to his navel. His breath quickens as she moves upward, ghosting touches over his ribs, his heart, slowly along his collarbone, the base of his throat. Her mouth favors his neck while her hands explore his torso again, the occasional scrape of her fingernails making him exhale heavily and regret that his arms are still pinned and he can’t touch her back—

She presses a gentle kiss to a spot just under the line of his jaw, a sensitive place that she discovered previously, and even that light touch is enough to elicit a sharp, low moan. He starts to grin it off, to make a lighthearted remark, but her lips pull tenderly at the spot and his words are lost in a noise somewhere between stunned and enthralled. He leans his head back, inviting her to continue, and her hands find his shoulders and push him all the way down, back into her pillows.

She kisses his neck again, but this one is hard, forceful, and while it's not quite a shout that leaves his lips, it’s close. Then there’s a touch of teeth and his body moves of its own accord, arching sharply up against hers, but she puts her full weight down to pin his hips against the bed with her own. It's a jarring sensation that makes them both gasp.

He leans up, openly struggling to tug his arms free now, but her weight prevents it. She holds his face in her hands as they touch foreheads, their panting hot and harsh. “Alisha,” he breathes, barely recognizing his own voice. “Alish—” She cuts him off with another hard kiss, this one on his mouth, and his shortness of breath makes him feel like he’s drowning in her—but it’s worth every second, every rushed gasp for air, every impatient clench of his empty fists.

At last she withdraws, gripping his shoulders to pull him along and help him sit up. He frees his hands, finally, and immediately one goes to her waist, the other to cup her face as he unabashedly meets her gaze, flushed and breathing hard and struggling to sort out all the sensations and impulses jolting through him. For a few rapid heartbeats they linger like this, breathing and taking each other in—and right now it’s enough, more than the touches and kisses and everything else.

This time, he initiates. He lies back and pulls her with him, gently, and she concedes, until she’s stretched out comfortably on top of him. He caresses her neck for a few patient moments, and then tugs her lower still to kiss her fully, deeply, slowly. He finds the tie binding her hair and carefully loosens it, every movement patient, and then buries his fingers in her locks as they tumble down around his face. He feels her shiver and clutch at his arms, her small hands strong and firm.

His fingers run along the bottom edge of her shirt as he hesitates, considering—but then remembering her boldness, he slides his hands under it, onto the bare skin of her back. Alisha bites his lip with a muffled gasp, but softly, and otherwise goes still.

Her skin is amazingly soft and smooth. His touch follows the dip of her spine, the bottom of her ribs, and back down to the curves of her hips. He repeats the motion, slower than before, and she gives an impatient hum. He kisses her unresponsive lips, her jaw, and then her neck, making her tense up when he reaches the curve of her shoulder in particular. Her hands are in his hair, holding him there, and he obliges with the gentlest of pressures from his teeth—nothing close to a bite, but just enough to lightly pull her skin between his lips on his next inhale.

Her grip hurts now, but he barely notices over her weight pressing closer. He’s feeling a lot of new sensations, new desires and reactions and thoughts that are hard to separate, let alone distinguish—but it all boils down to _her_ and wanting _more_ of her, in whatever way she chooses to give herself to him, and every touch she grants and movement she makes is both more than he can handle and yet _still not enough_ and it’s dizzying, almost maddening, the way his body aches with impulses that his mind can’t quite interpret.

Their kisses are clumsy now, rushed and hungry, and Sorey wonders if she’s dealing with the same confusing signals.

When they sit up again, still intertwined with Alisha locked into his lap, he finally breaks away to catch his breath. He rests his forehead on her shoulder, his pulse racing and his body feeling light. Her panting is hot against his ear as she holds him.

Sorey runs his fingers over the hem of her shirt, his mind wavering between thought and impulse. He’s not sure what’s appropriate (if that still matters) or expected (this all seems very spur-of-the-moment), or what they’re even really doing at this point—but he supposes it doesn’t really matter. Their actions so far have been about feeling, not thinking. He trusts her to be honest with him, as well, should he cross any unseen lines.

All the same, it never hurts to ask.

“Can I… um…” He glances at her as he gives her top a light, indicative tug.

Alisha nods once, immediately, her eyes never leaving his. “Please,” she whispers.

Ignoring the impatience that's making his blood pound, he's slow and gentle as he lifts the edge of her shirt. He watches as he bares her hips, her flat stomach, the curves of her sides, her ribs—and then higher, until it's over her head and free.

A thin bodice remains, but it leaves so little to the imagination that it hardly counts. He observes her—all of her—with eyes only at first, curious and amazed at how small and vulnerable she looks with so little on. She falters under the weight of his gaze, hands clasping together tightly over her chest as her eyes drop and fresh color creeps into her cheeks. It's a far cry from the girl who so confidently pinned him down moments ago.

With a fond smile he takes her hands between his—not tugging, but leaning forward to kiss along her knuckles. He feels her relax at that, slowly, her soft sigh ruffling his hair.

When she allows her arms to fall away, his kiss moves to her collarbone. He's not sure if that or the trail of his fingers up her sides is what makes her tremble, but it intensifies when his thumb follows the curve of her ribs, inward and upward, until he's cupping the underside of her covered breast. He watches her face, a little uncertain, but she only takes his wrist and pulls his hand up further, wordlessly, and he gets it. A gentle squeeze earns a breathless moan as she leans her head back; a kiss just above the bodice’s edge, along her smooth slope of skin, makes her squirm in his lap and clutch at his sleeves.

“Sorey—” she breathes. Her shaking hands grasp the bottom of his shirt, now, as her eyes meet his, but he saves her the trouble.

Oddly, undressing himself feels more awkward than undressing her did. When he pulls his shirt over his head, she sits back and actually looks away briefly, her smile shy. Then her attention returns and her hands run along his shoulders, down his arms, and then up his chest and neck, as if learning him anew.

She gives soft kisses to his forehead, his cheek, his chin, his mouth. Slow at first, they grow quicker as she presses herself to him—and the thought comes unbidden of what it might feel like if that bodice were gone—

As if reading his mind, Alisha kisses her way back along his jaw to his ear and murmurs, “Sorey—you can… if you want—all of me—then I…” 

_All of me._

Isn’t that how she’s always been? So forthright and dedicated, offering everything she has to the better cause—to _him_ , even, as his friend and Squire and supporter. What she’s doing now is… as none of those things, he’s well aware. Nevertheless, he trusts her—to know what she wants, to pursue it, and to dedicate herself to it wholeheartedly.

He sets his hands on her sides, but to gently push her back so that he can see her face.

“You’re sure?” he asks quietly, steadily.

Alisha hesitates, but he doesn’t sense doubt. It strikes him as more of an expression, her way of assuring him that she’s not giving her answer in haste. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything,” she says simply, breaking into a open smile.

That’s all the convincing he needs.

His touch roams her back, searching the bodice for buttons or zippers while she strokes his hair back from his face, but it seems to be smooth all the way around. Finally he looks up at her, chuckling sheepishly. “I have… no idea… how to get that off. Sorry.”

Alisha blinks, and then echoes his laugh with a shy smile. She reaches back behind herself, but then pauses—and instead takes hold of his hands. Without once looking away from his face, she guides them over her sides and back, to a small hook in the top of the bodice.

“Like this,” she says softly.

Holding her gaze, he fumbles with the hook for a few more seconds before successfully unlatching it—clearly, it was designed for daintier hands than his—and then he feels his way down to the next one, which is even trickier without the edge to work off of. As his short nails struggle to catch the latch without pinching her, he lowers his head and closes his eyes, trying to envision what he’s touching. “Sorry,” he repeats. Maybe it’s the result of nerves or that lightheaded feeling that’s been pumping through him for a while now, but this, too, strikes him as funny, and it’s a struggle not to laugh at how stupid he must look. He resists the urge, but instead mutters without even thinking, “I guess you’ll just have to… _bare_ with me for a minute…”

Unsurprisingly, the joke goes over Alisha’s head, and for some reason that’s borderline hilarious. Sorey drops his face into her shoulder as he snickers, trying to hide it, but the sound carries. “Sorry! Sorry—I’m— _really_ bad at this, I’m sorry—”

“Sorey? Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says quickly, pulling back with a shake of his head. “I just— _got it_ ,” he hisses triumphantly, feeling the hook come loose.

He deems it best to shut up after that.

Luckily the last two don’t take him quite as long and the piece soon goes slack beneath his hands. Alisha’s trembling again, her breath coming quick, but she doesn’t shy away this time.

Even when the bodice slips off, he keeps his eyes on her face. He smiles warmly, if likewise a little shyly, and his hands are in no rush as they explore her fully exposed back, her shoulders, her sides. His thumbs rub gentle circles into her hip bones and he kisses her neck again, slow and heavy.

Her knees tighten around his waist, she pulls him closer, and his breath hitches as their bare chests touch in full, more than satisfying his curiosity from before. She's so soft and warm, but at the same time firm and steady to lean against. For a long moment he does just that, adjusting to this new level of intimacy, of openness.

And then, just as she did to him, he explores her by touch.

She’s red-faced and panting by the time his hands go idle some minutes later. His veins are buzzing and his pulse pounding with the urge to do more, give her more, and he's still debating how to ask her when Alisha pushes him back again, down flat onto the bed as she leans over him and kisses his mouth with a new kind of eagerness. Her hips settle against his again, this time with a slow, deliberate push that makes them both moan, their holds on one another tightening. She repeats, faster, and he reaches under her skirt to squeeze her thighs with a low, muffled cry against her lips.

She goes very still at that, pulling out of their kiss just enough to look straight into his eyes as she drags herself against him again—this time with a twist of her hips at the end that makes him jump, his jaw clenched against the blazing _want_ that she's inciting in him with every touch. She returns to his neck, her mouth pressing as firmly as her hips, and all together it’s so overwhelming that his grip on her weakens and goes slack as he gives in to her entirely. His only response is breathless sounds and fumbling, clumsy touches, but Alisha doesn’t seem to mind. Her fingers find his, intertwining, and then his hands are on either side of his head and pinned down with the rest of him. Her grip tightens; his tightens back until he’s shaking.

He’s vulnerable in a way he’s never felt before. Not in the way of weakness, necessarily, but exposure and submission, lack of control.

He’s vulnerable and he doesn’t care—because he trusts himself to her in a way he trusts few others. He wants to be with her, touch her, feel her in a way he’s never done with another. He wants _her_ so badly that it hurts and he’s pushing back against her even though it frustrates him because there’s something _more_ he can give, and take, and as good as she feels it’s _still_ not enough—

Suddenly Alisha stops all that she’s doing and it takes a startling amount of self-control for him to hold back his objection. He watches her questioningly as she hovers over him, even as he’s hyperaware of her hot chest heaving against his, the sweat along her legs and his sides, the bruises she’s digging into the backs of his hands.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is slow and taut, as if he can’t quite remember how to use it properly, the words feeling strange in his mouth.

“Nothing—I…” She sounds equally strained, but her eyes are as steady as her will. She smothers the nervous urge to look away. “Before anything else happens—I just want to say this now—so that there are no doubts. For either of us.” If she doesn’t say it now, she might do so in a hotter moment of passion, something that runs the risk of being insincere, or at least sounding like it. And it’s important enough to warrant a moment of clarity.

And, a low voice in the back of her mind reasons, if his reaction isn’t a favorable one… well. Best to know now, before they go any further. It might not change her intentions, but at least she’ll go into it with no delusions.

“Sorey…” She relinquishes his hands to sit back on his hips again, placing her palms flat against his chest. It shouldn’t be so hard, not after all the nerve she’s shown thus far—but it is, stiflingly so, and the words catch in her throat despite her resolve.

When he takes a gentle hold of her arms, a casual touch as well as a grounding gesture, and smiles up at her with nothing less than total trust and his full attention, Alisha feels most of the weight dissipate. She’s still wondering why her eyes are suddenly stinging when the words pour out.

_“I love you—so much—”_ She shuts her eyes tight before she can do something as silly as cry, and then lets her tongue go. “Not because of this—but for everything else—your friendship, your kindness… everything you’ve ever done for me, and for everyone.” Her nails scrape lightly over his skin as her hands ball into nervous fists. “I don’t know if you recall, but… long ago, I told you that my heart’s never raced as fast as it did the day you became the Shepherd—and I once thought that traveling with all of you was the most content that I could ever feel… but neither is true anymore.”

She sniffs as she finally looks at him again, smiling through her tears—happy tears—even as her voice shakes. “Nothing… and no one… makes me happier than you do, Sorey. Not your accomplishments, nor what you can offer me as the Shepherd. Just… you.”

Sorey doesn’t interrupt, or reply once she’s finished. He listens attentively, seriously, with mild surprise being the only emotion that she detects flickering briefly over his face.

After a short pause, Alisha quickly drops her head and wipes at her eyes with a self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t—mean to ruin this—I just… want you to know, so that…”

He takes her left hand between both of his, carefully, as though afraid of dropping it. When she looks at him, he gives her a crooked smile. “You don’t have to explain. Really… I should be the one apologizing. For not saying anything sooner.” Suddenly he grins, but there’s something awkward in the expression and he still feels tense beneath her. He’s not as relaxed as he’s trying to seem. “I’m... already making you do most of the work here, huh?”

Alisha clears her throat, hums, and shifts a little. “It’s alright,” she says in a small voice. “I don’t mind.”

“Still.” His fingertips massage her knuckles and palm. “I’m… sorry, if there was ever any doubt about how I feel. I mean, I… kinda figured that’s why you’re… why we’re… here… like this… I mean—that’s… why I am, anyway. Uh—” he amends quickly, “that is—! I didn’t agree because _you_ feel that way, but—because I—we _both_ —agh… this is hard…”

It’s rare to see him flustered, let alone this badly. It’s both endearing and telling enough that Alisha neither wants nor needs any clarification; she leans forward and resolves his stammering with the gentlest, most affectionate kiss she can give. Despite the heat and desire still buzzing through her, she’s slow and deliberate as she kisses across his top lip, the corner of his mouth, and then across the bottom before leaning into him with an open-mouthed kiss that’s as deep as she can make it. She shivers when their tongues brush—shyly at first, and then more boldly—and then again when she feels his against the roof of her mouth, the inside of her cheek. Feeling such an intimate part of him inside her like this… It makes her heart race and her body throb for more, for the only thing he hasn’t given her at this point.

She draws back to catch her breath. “You don’t have to explain,” she whispers, echoing his words back at him.

He nuzzles the side of her nose, his hands dragging down her sides and then running up her back—still light and considerate, but his impatience, his _want_ , is obvious and pleasing to her. “Then…” He swallows, trying for and only partially succeeding at his lighthearted tone. “I, ah… With what comes next… should I still be polite and ask for it?”

Alisha can’t tell whether he’s teasing or it’s a genuine question. Either way, her thundering pulse almost hurts and she’s sure he can feel it. “Yes,” she answers breathlessly. She’s vaguely aware that the power trip he’s giving her is going to her head, but she doesn’t deny it—it feels too good, and it combines with his next words to send her desire and restraint past their breaking points:

“Then… please. You can have all of me, too.”

* * *

Sorey drifts off to sleep, but Alisha stays awake. Pressed close against his back, she's nestled her cheek into the side of his neck with an arm snug over his side. His light snoring says he's truly asleep, not just dozing, but it's hardly a surprise given how exhausted he is.

Their skins have cooled by now, with a little heat still lingering where they touch. Alisha’s sore in a few places, some of them new, but it only adds to how content and peaceful she feels as she rests in the wake of it all.

The orange-yellow light of sunset peeking into the room adds a soft tone to his skin and a sleepy haze in the air. It weighs down on her along with her fatigue, but she’s so used to sleeping alone that Sorey’s presence is a little distracting, just enough to keep her up. Truthfully, she’s glad for it: she would much rather linger like this, listening to him and feeling him and taking in his company. She can sleep well enough later, after he’s gone.

Setting her forehead between his shoulder blades, she closes her eyes and simply takes in his presence: his warmth, his scent, his sounds. Like this, it’s easy to pretend that it never has to end.

She's nearly slipped into a light sleep herself some time later when she hears his breath hitch and feels him stir.

“You awake?” he asks, breaking into a yawn.

Alisha pulls herself back up to eye level. “Yes. How are you feeling? Still tired?”

“Yeah. Not bad, though.” He folds his arms over his head and stretches, a couple stiff joints popping audibly. She watches the muscles in his back slide and flex beneath his skin, and for a moment her breath catches. “It’s not morning, is it?”

“...No. Merely dusk.” She starts to massage the back of his shoulders, mindful of the bruises and light scratches that she left there previously. He immediately responds with a low, comfortable groan that’s more satisfying to her ears than it probably should be. “Do you have to leave soon?” she forces herself to ask, dreading the answer.

“N-Nah… not until noon tomorrow.” He leans back into her hands, encouraging more pressure, and she obliges.

“Won’t Mikleo be worried?”

“Hecanwait,” Sorey slurs in a dazed, pleased purr. “He should… be able to tell… I’m still in the city.”

That gives them the rest of the night, then, and part of the morning. For a couple minutes the only sounds are breathing and skin sliding over skin, and Alisha wonders if he’s fallen asleep again up until he speaks.

“How about you?”

“Hm?”

Sorey rolls over to face her, putting them nearly nose-to-nose. He looks more alert than she would have guessed, although still visibly tired. The burn scars on his chest are brighter in this lighting, noticeable even in the corner of her eye.

He’s clearly unfazed by their proximity, but Alisha feels her heart speed up and her body grow warm with the thought of taking him into her arms again, leaning over him again, prompting more of those wonderful soft cries out of him while he shivers and gasps beneath her, his weak fingers grasping and dragging over her skin and his back arching sharply off the headboard—

It’s a passing urge, although not forgotten, the heat dimming to a content warmth when he sets a gentle hand on her side. “You okay?” he asks. “You seemed kind of… uncomfortable, before. I thought maybe I was too rough.”

Her face heats up, but all the same she’s not too surprised to hear him express his curiosity so bluntly. “N-No, I’m fine. You were fine. Um—” she amends quickly, “—not _just_ fine, I meant—you were very—” She tucks some hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling more shy than she did during the extent of their intimacy. “Th-There was nothing wrong. You were…” Her embarrassment gives way to a small, pleased smile. “You were very gentle, Sorey,” she assures him softly.

“In… a good way? Is that a good thing?”

“Mm.” Even though she did most of the work at the end, so to speak, she doesn’t feel like admitting (or explaining) that it did hurt, she still aches, and will probably feel it tomorrow as well. The time and experience with him was well worth the temporary discomfort. “I couldn’t have asked for anything more.”

Despite her confidence in that regard, Alisha’s gaze wavers and drifts away from his. “However—looking back, I apologize if I was—too forward in my… advances.”

“Your what now?”

The temptation is there to dismiss her concern, but she knows if she doesn’t clarify now, the question will continue to eat at her. Pushing through her embarrassment, she clarifies, “I just noticed that you seemed… mm… I felt as though I… surprised you at times. As if I took matters in a direction that you didn’t intend.”

Sorey’s fingers drum thoughtfully over her skin, his expression matching. “You mean, you’re worried I wasn’t okay with having sex?” he wonders plainly.

Alisha stares at him, wide-eyed and her face absolutely burning with embarrassment. “I-I— well—” She falters, making him frown.

“Did I say something weird again?”

“N-No, you—you’re correct—I’m just—if I overstepped in any way, I—” She goes quiet as he smiles, looking as though he’s holding back a laugh.

“It’s okay, Alisha. You didn’t overstep anything. It’s just—” It’s his turn to look away, sheepishly rubbing the side of his neck. “If I came off that way, I think it’s just because I didn’t… know what to expect, you know? I didn’t really know how things were supposed to... go. So,” he chuckles, “ _I’m_ sorry. For not being very helpful.”

“No, not at all,” she objects quickly, but his explanation is connecting a few dots in a way that makes her feel better and worse at the same time. The way he talks about it so casually—indifferently, almost—paired with how much more relaxed he was than she, and how he let her lead in almost every regard, and his admitting that he didn’t know much about it, and what she knows of his background…

The odds are good, Alisha realizes, that the topic was one he fleetingly passed over growing up, probably in a book somewhere—a comparatively cut-and-dry subject that he would have flipped past without much interest, knowing him. It’s easy enough to picture, at any rate. He’s smart enough to have questioned simple matters—like where children come from—and retained knowledge on basic bodily functions, surely. He’s probably been aware of the textbook definition and nothing else, having given no further thought to it.

Granted, a few hours ago Alisha wouldn’t have claimed to know much more. She was taught basic things in her schooling—particularly as a member of high society expected to wed one day—and she’s neither deaf nor totally naive to the kinds of salacious talk she occasionally overhears in public. Still, neither of those things makes her experienced or even confident on the matter.

Giving herself to him, and taking him for herself, was an impulsive decision to a degree, but not thoughtless. There was no doubt in her mind, then or now, that she’s willing to give him anything—and she’s glad, so glad, that her first experience was with him. Regardless of what may or may not happen in the future, she wanted it this way.

And yet… if she acted too rashly, even selfishly, and he doesn’t feel the same—

The touch of his lips to her forehead breaks her from her thoughts. The smile Sorey gives her is tired but kind as he pulls back. “Don’t overthink it. This was something we got to share—and I wouldn’t change that.”

That puts her at ease. “I’m glad.” Brushing her bangs aside distractedly, she inquires after a moment, “So, then… I—this—it was… alright?” She reads his confusion on his face and quickly explains, “That is—if there was anything you didn’t—if I did something you didn’t... like, or… could have done something else… you can tell me,” she says resolutely, suddenly self-conscious of the way she led and all but controlled most of the exchange. “I can handle criticism.”

This time Sorey’s laugh is a full one. Catching her surprised look, he immediately tries to stifle his amusement. “You’re… really something else, Alisha.”

“H-Huh?”

“I’m not criticizing anything,” he says warmly. “It’s… not like I’d know where to start, heh. And I don’t think I’m that much of a jerk.”

“Oh—no, of course not—I only meant…”

“I know.” His tone’s more serious, though still spoken with a smile. He takes her hand, as gentle and unassuming as ever, and sweeps his thumb over her fingers. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he murmurs, and she’s surprised to see a little bit of color in his face as his gaze stays on their joined hands. “I think… I kind of spoke for myself at the time. With the way I… uh…”

With the way he reacted? His sounds and movements, or lack thereof by the end? His expressions, which she’ll never forget, those looks of frustrated desire and then enraptured pleasure that no one but she has ever seen? His hoarse voice struggling to get her name out? Or the way all his strength and power failed him in the face of something as basic as her touch, leaving him weak and wholly submissive to her without complaint?

Yes, his actions certainly did speak for him.

Alisha moves over until she’s snug against him, and when he responds by pulling her closer she tangles their legs and tucks her head under his chin. There’s still some heat simmering low in her stomach, the urge to push him onto his back and take him again—but there’s also some simple, fulfilling satisfaction in the way they are now, skin-to-skin and hiding nothing, just feeling and _being_. It’s nice and intimate in its own way.

“Alright.” She speaks against his skin as she kisses the inside of his shoulder—and then, playfully, “I suppose I can take your word for it.”

* * *

When Alisha wakes, the sun has set completely. Some of her lamps have been lit, but most of the room is dark as she sits up and blinks her vision clear. She doesn’t have to reach over to know that Sorey’s no longer beside her.

Unperturbed, she takes her time in getting dressed. Searching for her discarded clothes would be a hassle in the dark, so she retrieves and slips into her thin robe as she heads for the balcony doors.

Predictably, she finds him outside, dressed again in his pants and black shirt as he leans on the railing. He’s staring out at the starry skyline over the neighboring houses, his poise relaxed and pensive. Even now, she knows, his mind is elsewhere, miles and miles away in thought, remembering a place he’s been or considering one he’ll visit next. He truly has a wanderer’s soul, through and through.

It makes her heart ache, just a little.

When Alisha draws close enough, he looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Hey. Did I wake you?”

“No, it’s alright. Have you been out here long?”

“Just a few minutes.” He looks ahead again as she joins him, his smile fading to one more thoughtful. “It’s a nice view. I never noticed before.”

She hums cheerfully. “Not as nice as the view in Elysia. Or any of the far places you’ve seen, I’d imagine.”

“Well, it probably depends on your taste.”

“Indeed.” Setting her hands on the railing, Alisha inquires after a moment, “So where are you headed tomorrow, if I may ask?”

“I’m not totally sure,” he admits. “We’ve spent a lot of time up north, and we visited a couple of the southern islands. We’re thinking of heading west next.”

“Across the sea?”

He nods with a slight frown. “Yeah. We haven’t heard anything from that direction, so… that could be either good or bad. I think it’s worth a look.”

“And you’re sure you’ll be alright with only two seraphim?” Alisha can’t help her concern. As much as Sorey’s proven himself time and time again, and for all the confidence she has in him, she’ll still worry on occasion. Crossing the sea to the outer lands… even with the Lord of Calamity vanquished, and the responsibility of the Shepherd falling to what’s essentially patrol duty, it’s a justifiable cause for concern, at least for her.

Sorey doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Zaveid’s traveled all over the place, so he’ll be good to have along. And Rose will get by just fine with Lailah and Edna.” Perhaps noticing Alisha’s worry, he adds more cheerfully, “Of course, I can only head that way because Glenwood’s in such a good state. I have you to thank for a lot of that.”

“No, I haven’t done nearly as much as you all,” she replies humbly, although his gratitude makes her smile all the same. “But I’m glad to have assisted you both.”

“It’s not just the hellions and malevolence,” he reminds her. “You’ve gone the extra mile to keep things in order and watch out for the people. Every contribution is important.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” He grins brightly, and then leans over to bump his shoulder lightly against hers. “But you’re always welcome to come with us, when you have the time. You’d be a great diplomat, especially since you probably have more social skills than the three of us combined.”

That earns a quiet laugh. “I’d like that, truly. One day.” One day when her responsibilities aren’t so burdensome and strict. She’s helped out as a Squire locally on several occasions in the last few years, but a long trip the likes of which Sorey usually takes—lasting anywhere from weeks to months—simply won’t do when she has so much to tend to.

“One day,” he echoes quietly. Perhaps he’s fallen into the same train of thought with that agreement—that starting tomorrow, he’ll be away for a while, away from her—because his gaze falls from the sky to the yard and he looks distracted now. Alisha would be lying if she said she doesn’t mind his absences; it will be more difficult after tonight, she’s sure, and even the next reunion, and the one after that, and maybe the one after that as well, will be tinged with the same reluctance and sadness of knowing it can’t last.

Even so, she won’t ask him to stay. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and she knew before now what coming this far with him would mean. Even were she selfish enough to put herself before his duties, she’s well aware that his journeys are more than that now. He’s the Shepherd, but he’s still Sorey, first and foremost. The same Sorey who eagerly told her about his dream only hours after first meeting her, whose hunger for knowledge and dedication to peace between the races haven’t dimmed in the slightest since then.

And she loves him far, far too much to ever consider asking him to give that up.

They have time together now, however, and the night’s still young. She clasps her hands and shifts her weight, smiling as she clings to the thoughts of the present and nothing else. “Are you hungry yet? I can have the maids start on dinner. And I’d love to hear more about your last trip in the meantime. You must have found some really ancient relics so far up nor—”

Suddenly Sorey whirls around, his eyes sparking brightly enough to put the stars overhead to shame. In a heartbeat he’s caught her hands between his with an eager shake. “Oh, hey! You can be our tie-breaker!”

She blinks at him. “Your… I’m sorry?”

“Hang on!” He lets go just as quickly and spins on his heel to bolt back inside. Seconds later he returns, his well-worn copy of the Celestial Record open in his hands as he flips rapidly through its pages, his mouth moving just as fast. “I’ve been taking notes on the ruins and artifacts we come across, and last week we actually found the remains of a civilization that I’m _positive_ dates back to the Temperance of Avarost—and it was _below sea level,_ can you believe it? Ha!” He’s practically bouncing in place as he shows her where he’s scribbled words and patterns in the margins of the page, in places so thick that the parchment underneath can hardly be seen. “But the architecture of that period’s known for its references to seraphic attributes, and since there were some motifs we didn’t recognize, _Mikleo_ thinks the ruins are newer than that,” he sniffs, sounding annoyed. “So, maybe you can hear me out and give me your thoughts?”

Even were she not a fellow fan of history, Alisha would find it difficult to turn down this much earnest enthusiasm. She can’t withhold a laugh, but it’s a happy, amused sound. “I’d love to, Sorey.”

All through dinner, she listens to him ramble on about the subject. He recites the Celestial Record’s references, paraphrases a few other sources, and recounts in surprising detail all that he remembers about the site, hardly seeming to take time to breathe in between talking and eating. They retreat back to her room afterwards, where he sits cross-legged at the head of the bed while she leans comfortably against him to join in reading over his notes. In the end she has to admit that she sees merit in both arguments, which, while not entirely what he wants to hear, appears to satisfy him all the same.

Afterwards, holding hands, they fall silent for a while in favor of the nighttime noises outside. It’s well past midnight, but Alisha isn’t tired—or perhaps she doesn’t want to be, because sleep will bring the morning that much sooner. Still, Sorey has a long way to travel tomorrow, and keeping him up even later won’t do him any favors.

“You should get some rest,” she tells him, lifting her head from his shoulder to smile at him. “You’re welcome to stay for breakfast, if you have time.”

“As long as I don’t oversleep, sure,” he replies with a grin. He starts to move away from her, as if to rise and take his leave—but then stops mid-motion and looks at her a little uncertainly. “Ah…”

His doubt about where he’s expected to stay is easy to read—here, or the usual guest room—and Alisha answers by slipping her hand into his again. She doesn’t hold tight—it’s an offer, after all, not a demand. “I’ll make sure you don’t,” she promises warmly.

He takes her up on that.


End file.
